La Tourmenteuse
by Madame Marchal
Summary: Claudette de Rouen is 'La Tourmenteuse' (The Torturess). Working to serve and protect King Louis; she is called to Versailles to work alongside Fabien Marchal to root out those who would seek to destroy the king.
1. Chapter 1

3

 **La Tourmenteuse: L'histoire d'une femme** Written by Helen Dunbar, 2016

 **La Tourmenteuse : L'histoire d'une femme**

My name is Claudette de Rouen.

I was born in 1632.

I am 'La Tourmenteuse'.

This is the story of my life, work and loves in the service of my king.

 **Chapter 1:**

It is difficult to say how I came by my profession. Was it by chance? By sheer fate? By the movement of the stars? Or perhaps by means far more contrived? I am still unsure.

I was born in Rouen, capital of Normandy. My mother was Elspeth Leighton of York, England; my father was Armand de Rouen, an accomplished scientist, mathematician and cartographer in the service of Ann of Austria and the French court.

After a brief but catastrophic illness, my mother died when I was 8 years old, leaving my father and I alone. For two weeks I had sat by her bedside as her body was wracked with pain and torment. My small child's hands wiped the sweat that oozed from every part of her body; collected the hair that fell daily from her head; moistened her dry cracked lips with a dampened cloth; prayed to the only God that I knew not to take her from us. My father worked feverishly from dawn 'til dusk to seek a concoction that would cure her ills, that would keep her living, if only for a brief time…but his travails were without success… and a dark foreboding shadow fell across us.

The morning that my mother died it was as if the joy had truly gone from our lives; I firmly believe that my father also died upon that day…only his mortal body remained in motion like a mannequin kept alive by some unknown sinister force.

While my mother lived she had sought to raise me as a miniature version of herself, though I had none of her natural charm or grace. She had dressed me as a pretty young girl, when in reality it was clear to all that I was not such a creature. With her gone I was free to do as I wished, and my father did not seek to curtail my behaviour. He focused his mind upon his work, travelling from Rouen to Paris frequently, often

leaving me alone with only a maidservant to keep me clothed and to see that I did not starve.

As I grew and matured I became a tall, rounded and ungainly creature, squeezed into masculine clothing to hide my discomfort at not being the young woman that I felt I was meant to be. It worried me not, despite some occasional misgivings at having betrayed my mother's wishes. I had a lively and enquiring mind, and I devoured my father's scientific books avidly. I could read in English, French and Latin, and as my intellect developed my father began to notice me once more, and he encouraged my studies. I think, in some way, I had begun to become the son that he was never to have. This seemed to please him and, in pleasing him, it also pleased me.

In the high summer of 1646 my father was called to the royal hunting lodge at Versailles. His skills were needed to interpret some papers. I did not quite understand how such a task came within the remit of his employ, but what did I know?

I was by then 15, virtually an adult, and my father decided that I should accompany him on his journey. It would be 'an adventure', he said. Looking back, I believe he took me with him in the hope that I would be dazzled by the pretty young women that flittered around the royal family, and would perhaps choose to change my unfeminine appearance in order to enhance my possibilities of finding a future husband.

Whilst my father worked with the court advisors, I was kept in the charge of the housekeeper, Mariette. She grabbed me by the shoulders, turning me round and round, exclaiming, 'What an unusual creature you are!'. Needless to say, I did _not_ warm to her and spent as many hours as I possibly could outside in the woods, listening to the gentle winds rustling the thick covering of leaves above me; feeling the warm sunshine on my face; and watching the creatures of the forest going about their business.

One afternoon, with a light heart and my stomach full of Mariette's vegetable stew, I took to wandering a little further from the lodge than usual. I could hear a loud rushing of water on my right as I furrowed my own path through the long grasses around me. Suddenly I heard a sound…I stopped…just ahead of me, under a wide thicket, was a vixen and her two cubs, the cubs noisily feeding from their mother. I stood as a statue watching them, taking in the warmth of her maternal care and love with a smile. How pure and loving and innocent they were!

In an instant, however, the blissful silence was shattered. A dog's loud barking; a boy's shout…I was frozen to the spot as I saw a large brown dog break from the cover of the bushes far to my left and race towards the vixen. I could see only aggression in its eyes, its mouth open, panting and slavering. Life returned to my limbs and I threw myself towards the space between the dog and the vixen, to block its path in any way that I could. As my body sheltered the vixen the dog's teeth sank into my lower leg viciously and I could feel it attempting to shake its head and tear at my skin. I cried out in pain. Then I heard a boy shouting, but he was not shouting at the dog…he was shouting at me! I felt his weight as he jumped upon my back, pummelling heavily at my head and neck with his small hands. I just wanted to keep the vixen safe from harm.

Then in a second the weight was gone; the dog's teeth released from my leg…what seemed like an hour of pain had ceased in that one second. I turned, squinting my eyes against the dappled sunlight, fighting to keep the tears from spilling down my face. I saw a tall stern-faced man looming above me, long grey hair, dressed in black; he had the dog's collar tight in one hand and the wriggling boy's collar in the other. I recognised his uniformly designed jacket; he was a valet…a personal valet to the young king, 8-year old Louis.

That evening my father was beside himself. What had I been thinking? Did I know what effects my actions may cause? How could I have been so foolish? I had shamed him! But, despite his anger, he was still my father…and his concern soon turned to tending the deep wound on my leg; the scars from which I still bear to this day. I was wounded, yes, but completely unbowed. I could not let that innocent creature be torn to pieces in front of my eyes, it was inhumane…totally abhorrent…I did not care that the boy Louis was soon to be my king and master.

It was on that day that I settled in my own mind that pain and suffering should be inflicted only upon the guilty, not the innocent. It gave me great (but secret!) pleasure when I heard that young Louis had been punished severely for attacking me, a mere girl. For, as a girl, I was seen by Louis' guardians to be defenceless and in need of their protection.

How wrong they were!


	2. Chapter 2

4

 **La Tourmenteuse: L'histoire d'une femme** Written by Helen Dunbar, 2016

 **La Tourmenteuse : L'histoire d'une femme**

 **Chapter 2: Life, Versailles and Marchal**

It took some weeks for my leg to heal following the incident with Louis and his dog, and in that time, back in my own home at Rouen, I slowly grew in strength and determination. I rode with my father every day that he was free and, if he were not able to accompany me, I would ride with our groomsman or his son. If my leg pained me I would not show it: I would not reveal the weakness that they expected of me purely due to my sex.

As my teenage years passed I became as good a rider as any young man; I could shoot both a pistol and a rifle with some accuracy and also, unbeknownst to my father, I could also handle a thin-bladed dagger deftly should the situation warrant it.

It became clear that I neither sought a husband, nor would I allow one to be foisted upon me, and so my father continued with his work and I, at twenty years of age, joined the ranks of the king's police. I was one woman in a team of some fifteen men and, before they knew me, many doubted my suitability for the role. However, my father's links to the royal court meant that I was allowed the opportunity that I sought, and I did not waste it.

There were many women to be dealt with in my work; to be apprehended, questioned, punished. With the knowledge gained from my father's books, of anatomy/drugs and suchlike, I began to excel in my questioning techniques and, as the months and years rolled by, I rose in the ranks and was called upon to travel across France wherever a female prisoner needed specific handling. I was commanded by my superiors initially, but in time I was positioned in my own office at Rouen with my own small force of men to support me. It worked well and I was content and successful in my work.

I had travelled abroad, seen many great sights, learned many great secrets, but perhaps the biggest secret of life yet eluded me…that of love.

Early in 1668 I was called by the royal court to return for the first time since my childhood to Versailles. But Versailles was no longer the country hunting lodge that I had visited with my father when I was a child. It was now growing, developing and expanding at an exponential rate…an architectural and artistic wonder in the landscape…and all of this under Louis' watchful gaze and guidance.

For the little Louis that had pummelled my back and rolled in the grass with me many years earlier was no longer merely a spoilt royal child, he was now a man…a king above all kings…our Sun King…and his new palace would light up France and the world as had no other before it.

I was touched with sadness at having to leave my childhood home in Rouen yet again, for I knew not how long I would be away. My mother's house: my father's house. But they were both now long dead; it was only my father's library, my mother's dresses, and I that remained. However, my course in life had already been set for me. I was a servant of the king. So, having left the house in the capable hands of my elderly family retainers, I prepared myself to take the journey to Versailles which would change my life forever.

I had travelled many times before in my employ, as I have mentioned…the number of women in my profession was…well… in truth, there was only I with such developed skills…so my services were rare and valuable…and I was sent wherever sedition and revolution were rumoured…to seek out the women behind the plots and to persuade them as to the error of their ways. Fortunately for my king, and unfortunately for the women involved - I could be very persuasive!

I had worked at the Spanish court, and in England's great Tower prison; I had assisted the Pope's guards in Rome…but I had never yet been needed at Versailles. For at Versailles Louis had his Head of Police and Security, Fabien Marchal, to do such work as I would do elsewhere….and, having heard of Marchal's reputation for some years, he was said to do his work with such gusto and enthusiasm as to engender fear in many who met him…even those who were genuinely innocent and had nothing to fear from him! However, as a man, there were places that even Marchal could not go…could not fully and thoroughly penetrate without raising comment. The present threat was said to involve a woman of high-rank (perhaps more than one) and, wary of any adverse reaction should she or they be dealt with incorrectly, Louis had thus sent for me.

Despite my misgivings at leaving my home for an unknown period of time, I was not entirely unenthusiastic about the venture - for Marchal's invisible presence in my life and work had been deeply inspiring to me. I had heard tell of some of his more inventive methods of persuasion, and had used them to good effect myself. So no, I for one did not fear Fabien Marchal. On the contrary, as I mounted my horse to commence my journey, my six faithful men alongside me, my heart had already begun to beat faster at the anticipation of our meeting.

On arrival at Versailles I found that Marchal had been called away on the king's business. My men were settled with some fellow officers, our horses stabled and fed, and I was escorted to Marchal's accommodation in order to become acquainted with my new situation.

I was greeted with little enthusiasm by Marchal's maidservant; a plain, sullen creature whose overly coiffured hair was in sharp contrast to the meanness of her craggy features. She was not old, but wore the tired complexion of a life in service hard lived. She wore a cheap whorehouse fragrance which I had recognised immediately on meeting her. It was one rumoured to greatly raise a man's passions, and I have no doubt that she wore it in a futile attempt to gain the attentions of any man who passed her way, perhaps even to impress her master? It was not unusual for powerful men to use their servants sexually, but I could not imagine this lowly creature inspiring a rise of passion in any but the most desperate of men. Given Marchal's distinguished status in the king's household I sincerely doubted that he would be lacking in offers of more attractive female (or perhaps male, I did not know) company.

It had been an extremely hot and stuffy day and, after a tiring journey and a poor meal, I retired to bed early. Not long after retiring I sensed a presence at my door. I awaited a knock or a shout, but none came. The gentlest of warm breezes pushed a fragrance into the room, and I knew immediately that it was her. Her breathing was shallow, a slight rustle of her dress caught my ears…how dare she spy on me!

I undressed slowly, peeling away the masculine layers that I still wore above to reveal my soft feminine curves below. I lay naked above the bedcovers…knowing that her eyes were upon me. Feeling the warm air on my skin I began to slowly pleasure myself, making sure that I was in a position that would be visible to her as I did so; my hands and fingers caressing my own body as a man's would. I could sense her breath becoming faster and shallower as she squinted at the almost invisible spyhole in the door. As I had reached my climax I called out her master's name. Now she would have something to report!

Whether she had watched me on Marchal's instruction or not I did not, in all honesty, know. He returned to Versailles and greeted me warmly the very next morning. If he had any knowledge of my bedchamber exploits from the night before he did not declare it either in his speech or in his manner towards me.

Fabien Marchal was everything that I had expected him to be: strong, dominant, powerful, focused, keenly intelligent, fascinating; a most intimidating, feared and commanding presence, an expert in his trade…and, as I had truly _not_ expected….he was also extremely beautiful.

As Marchal dismounted from his fine black horse on the morning that we first met I had been struck by his appearance. Most interrogators that I had worked with previously had been rough and ready types; their personal hygiene having more in common with that of farmyard animals than royal courtiers, with seemingly no care for their clothing or outward impressions at all. Clearly being the chief interrogator at Versailles called for a very different breed of man. Marchal was tall and leanly muscled, his long brown hair and neat moustache very much in the highest fashion of our times. He was dressed in long brown riding boots, black breeches, white shirt and cravat, and black jacket, all made of the finest materials and clearly tailored to his person. As he walked towards me his pistol and knife were clearly visible as his jacket flapped open.

If he was taken aback by the appearance of my masculine clothing he made no show of it. No doubt he had already been advised that I would not be dressed in pretty silk gowns and heels! My only nods to my femininity were my mother's pearl cross on a chain at my neckline, a small velvet bow which held back my hair, and the fragrance of sweet English roses with which I anointed my skin.

'Madame de Rouen,' he said warmly, with a slight bow and a smile, 'I am delighted to meet you. I trust that, in my absence, you have been made welcome in my rooms. I apologise that I could not be here to greet you yesterday; I was unexpectedly called away. Did you sleep well?'

There was no sign that I could deduce from his face or manner as to the motive behind his question. Had his surly maidservant already passed on to him a message regarding my actions of the previous evening? How could that have been possible if he had been away from Versailles?

With a gentle nod of acknowledgement and a return of his smile I replied, 'I was very tired from my journey, Monsieur, so I slept most soundly despite the heat of the night. I thank you for your concern. I too am delighted to meet you.'


	3. Chapter 3

3

 **La Tourmenteuse: L'histoire d'une femme** Written by Helen Dunbar, 2016

 **La Tourmenteuse : L'histoire d'une femme**

 **Chapter 3: Investigations begin at Versailles**

My first week at Versailles was spent becoming accustomed to my new surroundings and learning, from extended late evening conversations with Marchal, how the court functioned and how the movements of the great number of nobles and staff were observed by Marchal himself, his various assistants and members of his police force. I was greatly impressed by the system which he had put into place for this purpose: laundry checks, correspondence checks, discreet observation of suspect individuals and their activities, checks on whose horses were being prepared for long journeys, who had suddenly developed new _friends_ or more intimate relationships, the list was almost endless… he had truly left no area uncovered or unobserved.

I was provided with a desk in Marchal's office from which to organise my own activities and investigations which suited me to some extent. I would have preferred to have my own offices, of course, but at Versailles I was in no position to request such favours. I had to accept that being given space in Marchal's office, whilst I took it as something of a slight, was actually a great compliment to my status. I am sure that, had Marchal not wanted me there, I would have been situated in some miniscule room elsewhere. To know that he must have approved my presence pleased me intensely.

As Marchal was usually fully occupied at court with the king's business during the day I began to be seen by those who came seeking him as his understudy, which initially irked me somewhat. However, I soon came to realise that this unofficial role actually served to give me great insight into the workings of the office and the court and also, I felt, into the mind of Marchal himself.

Each night, on Marchal's return from the court's evening activities, I would report to him with my findings of the day and we would formulate a plan for any further action which needed to be taken. Marchal would sometimes take over control of certain investigations; other times he would pass tasks on to me to complete. I was content at how quickly we settled into this easy routine; we clearly had many similarities in the way that we liked to work and organise out schedules, and this certainly aided in smoothing the transition period following my arrival. After talk of work, if we knew that the night was unlikely to require further efforts from us, we would sometimes remain in the office together and share a decanter of wine.

I confess that, from the outset, I found Marchal fascinating. As I have previously mentioned, his reputation at Versailles had been known to me for some years, so I had already conceived some notion of how I expected him to be…but, now that we had met in person, I found that his personality completely beguiled and intrigued me. Perhaps it was the contradiction that I perceived between his reputation and his appearance which unnerved me? To see him ride alongside the king you would think him a noble, a great landowner perhaps, a man of leisure with no cares to speak of…but to see him at work in our chambers, with blood and other matter spattered across his face and clothing, his breath coming fast and strong with the exertion of his interrogations…it was almost as if he were two different men housed in the one body. His calmness of speech and manner had such an intense quietness about it that it in itself could be intimidating. He needed not to scream and shout to interrogate…he was like a silent wolf who crept up upon his prey unnoticed until the slavering jaws attacked and made their final conquest.

On one occasion during that first week our conversation had ventured into more personal territory. I was gratified to learn that he had heard of my successes on behalf of the king; I found that I had very quickly come to desire his recognition and approval in a way that I had never done with any other. Perhaps I had never had such respect for any other? All the same, a word of praise from Marchal soon began to be like nectar to my ears. He had been intrigued as to how I had begun working for the police and the king's security and, when I had detailed the tale of Louis and his dog attacking me many years before, I saw a wry smile come across his face, 'One would imagine that would make you _not_ want to protect him?!' he said pointedly, holding my gaze.

'Perhaps,' I replied, taking a sip of wine as I pondered his words, 'Perhaps.'

After a short, but comfortable, silence I gathered my bravery and said, 'And you, Fabien? How did _you_ come to join the police?'

Marchal took a large draught of his own wine before softly placing it down on the desk before him, gazing at it as if it contained the secrets to the universe, 'That is a _very_ long story, Claudette…and one which I confess I do not wish to share!'

'Oh…I apologise, Fabien, I truly did not seek to intrude…' I blurted out, 'Please forgive me.'

Marchal sat motionless for a second or two, then lifted his head slowly to look directly into my eyes. His gaze was intense, his eyes as dark as burnt coals after the dying of a fierce winter fire, a plethora of unspoken emotions seem to whirl behind them, but he said not a word.

I picked up my glass once again and raised it towards him, 'To the king!'

Marchal nodded in silent agreement before standing abruptly, gathering a book and his sheathed knife from his desk, and leaving the room without further comment.

I leant back in my chair, rested my glass beside me and stared into the orange glow of the fire. Yes, without doubt, Marchal was most definitely a most fascinating and intriguing individual.

In that first week I received my initial orders from the king; though, of course, they came to me via Marchal. I was to speak at some length to all the female staff (from chambermaids to cooks' assistants to laundry women), whose feet tread the pathways of the palace and its gardens. Every single one of them was to be questioned; not just about her own background and daily routine, but also about the activities of any nobles and other staff with which she came into contact. I would use the opportunity of these interviews to also confirm and update the information which Marchal already held in his voluminous record books. There was a substantial number of women to be seen; so, with the assistance of my two most trusted men, Artus and Antoine, I quickly settled into a busy daily routine of interviews and information gathering.

Both Artus and Antoine had worked for me at my Rouen office for some six years; both were fiercely loyal to our king, and also, I'm pleased to say, to me. I would trust them both with my life, and I had been called upon to do so on more than one occasion.

Artus was a young giant of a man, standing some five inches over six feet tall with a back as broad and strong as a prized bull. Born into a farming family in the south, his strength and his honest ways had led to him being recruited into the police force by a local commander. At one time he had intercepted a narrow blade (in the hand of screaming Spanish whore in Madrid) which had been headed for my throat, receiving a deep arm wound for his troubles; quite literally saving me from serious injury, if not death. His appearance was daunting, his sheer size could overpower all who dared to challenge him alone, and his appetite for good red wine and the joys of women's company was legendary.

Antoine was older, nearer to my own age; a veteran of war who sought only to atone for his perceived battle sins by serving his king for every moment of every day. There were no lazy evenings in whorehouses or hostelries for Antoine: he sought out neither the pleasures of the flesh nor the grape; he merely served with the stoic determination that all who sought to challenge or harm the king would be destroyed. A quiet man, an honest and steadfast man; I felt, in truth, that he was as a brother to me and I trusted him implicitly.

Each day I would send Artus and Antoine to collect the women that I wished to interview. This was always done in an unannounced manner, in order to achieve the maximum psychological impact upon those I had chosen. Many of the younger chambermaids were almost in tears and shaking with fear by the time they were escorted to me, such was the fear instilled by the prospect of a visit to Marchal's office! Many of these interviews served very little purpose other than to confirm the details which were already known to us; however, some did bring us interesting intelligence.


	4. Chapter 4

3

 **La Tourmenteuse: L'histoire d'une femme** Written by Helen Dunbar, 2016

 **La Tourmenteuse : L'histoire d'une femme**

 **Chapter 4: Delphine Chausset**

A young woman named Delphine Chausset worked in the service of a noble couple fairly recently arrived at Versailles, Francoise and Gaston de Valois, as a combination of chamber maid and lady's maid. All would have been very straightforward had Marchal not advised me the previous evening that Francoise de Valois seemed to have been missing for the past three days, and that tittle-tattle overheard in the laundry rooms suspected Delphine of being her employer Gaston's mistress.

One would expect that a husband, on discovering that he could not find his wife, would report the matter and seek assistance immediately…but Gaston de Valois had not seen fit to notify anyone of these circumstances, and that in itself intrigued me. Perhaps Francois had merely returned home distraught at discovering her errant husband's infidelity, too ashamed to face the court's gossip; perhaps there was more to her disappearance than we yet knew.

Delphine was unusual as, on that particular day, just over a week since my investigations had begun, she was the only one who was brought to me in Marchal's office in a calm manner. It had, thus far, been a day of sobbing, hand-wringing and heartfelt protestations of innocence and, truth be told, I was feeling completely drained with the sheer unadulterated tedium of dealing with such weak-willed creatures. I needed a challenge; I _needed_ to gain some useful intelligence; at that very moment, I did not yet know it…but I needed Delphine Chausset.

Delphine was short and stockily-built, but not unattractive. Her dark hair fell in soft loose curls around her softly-featured face, her lips were full and rosy, her hazel eyes gleamed with a sharp and keen intelligence which was unusual for someone in her employment. Taking in the details of her appearance as Artus beckoned her to sit before my desk, I had a feeling that all was not as it seemed with her. Such was the timing of the de Valois' arrival at Versailles, there were minimal entries in Marchal's record books regarding the family; husband, wife, young son, one maid, one horse, and their noble papers were still awaited by Colbert. I had little to work with other than laundry room gossip and the composed young woman sitting in front of me.

Holding my quill poised to write, I asked, 'You are Delphine Chausset?'

'Yes,' she replied confidently, 'I am Delphine Chausset'.

I noted down brief details of her physical appearance next to her name, leaving her to wait in silence until I had finished, 'You arrived at Versailles three weeks ago, I believe…and you are in the service of….' I looked down and pretended to read from my papers, '…Gaston de Valois…is that correct?'

'It is,' she responded briefly with a nod.

The initial part of the interview then proceeded as had all the others that day; mundane details of personal history, day to day activities and suchlike. Delphine was relaxed, confident, occasionally smiling, respectful in her words, but her eyes told me a truly different story. I had seen enough liars to know that I was dealing with one at that very moment.

'So, Delphine…' I looked her directly in the eyes, 'Your mistress, Madame de Valois…is she a good mistress? Is she kind to you?'

Delphine seemed a little taken aback by the question, 'Yes, yes, Madame, she is. She is most kind to me.'

'And generous too?' I added, with a raised eyebrow.

Delphine's eyes flickered, glancing quickly to the right and she unwittingly moistened her lips with her tongue, 'I do not quite understand your question, Madame.'

'Generous…I assume that you understand the meaning of the word?' I had sharpened my tone somewhat, 'Would you not say that sharing her husband with you is _most_ generous?'

Delphine visibly swallowed and a barely perceptible film of perspiration began to develop on her upper lip. The first signs of a crack in her shield had been made.

'I … I do not know what you mean!' she feigned shock and offense in her reply.

'Oh, but I think you do know what I mean. Where is your mistress now, Delphine?' I snapped.

'She is in her chambers, Madame, she is resting, she has a headache…' Delphine lifted her chin slightly as if to assert her truthfulness and attempted, but failed, to hold my gaze.

'She is _not_!'

'I… I…'

'I think it is time that you told me the truth, Delphine,' I asserted sternly.

Glancing rapidly from side to side, her head then turning to look around the room…her gaze settled on Artus who, noticing the raise in tension between us, had stood up and now blocked the whole of the doorway with his massive frame, 'I do not know what you wish me to say, Madame. I have done nothing wrong…nothing at all…I swear it!'

Inside, at that moment, my heart truly began to smile…for in my experience those who protested their innocence so quickly and readily were almost always those with the most secrets to hide.

Delphine stood suddenly, the chair clattering to the floor behind her, she seemed about to make a run for the doorway…despite Artus' giant presence blocking her way. I leant across the desk and caught hold of her left wrist, pulling her towards the desk and twisting her arm sharply as I did so. She let out a sharp yelp, like a wounded rabbit in a fox's jaws, her eyes flashing rapidly and flicking from myself to Artus and back again. She attempted to pull away from me, but I was too strong for her and pulled her towards me across the desk. Within seconds Artus had approached and caught hold of her right arm firmly.

'I have done nothing wrong…I do not understand what is going on!' she protested as she attempted to free herself from our joint grip. I ignored her.

'Artus,' I said, 'Please take Delphine to the other room,' I nodded towards the metal gated door that led to our main interrogation room. Artus dragged the wriggling girl away and through the doorway. I would deal with her soon.

At that moment Antoine appeared at the main office doorway with a doe-eyed laundry maid quivering in his wake, his eyes questioned me as he noticed Artus heading into the interrogation room with the squirming Delphine in his grip. I beckoned him to me, 'Let this girl go back to her duties, I don't have time for her now. Then find Gaston de Valois…watch him…don't let him out of your sight…and send message to me if he tries to leave the palace.' Antoine nodded sagely and went about his business with his usual calm and discretion.

At this point I felt I had uncovered a crime of passion. Perhaps Delphine, with ideas far above her station, had sought to remove her mistress and take her place permanently as her master's side…perhaps Gaston, besotted with his lowly mistress, had decided to free himself of his wife permanently? I did not know, but I would find out.

I did not, at that time, realise where my discoveries would lead me.


	5. Chapter 5

4

 **La Tourmenteuse: L'histoire d'une femme** Written by Helen Dunbar, 2016

 **La Tourmenteuse : L'histoire d'une femme**

 **Chapter 5: Interrogating Delphine Chausset**

Knowing that Antoine would soon be keeping watch on Gaston de Valois gave me a great sense of security that the errant noble would not be able to flee from us, or even attempt to do so without our knowledge. Whatever de Valois' involvement in his wife's disappearance, we needed to know what he was doing, when and why.

I overheard Artus in the other room, calmly telling Delphine to sit down and put her hands behind her back. I also heard her protest to no avail.

Marchal's interrogation room was set out with a single hard chair which backed onto a solid wooden column that stretched from floor to ceiling which could be used to help restrain those being questioned. Opposite this were a stool and a large metal brazier which provided heat…for various purposes. At a right-angle to the interviewee's chair (under a window) was a long, wide, wooden table upon which was placed a row of various useful implements: hammers, gouges, spikes, manacles, chains and the like. Both Marchal and I liked to work with this layout, finding that having our tools displayed in such a way, in view full of our interviewees, served to focus that person's attention somewhat on the matter at hand. We also had various metal rings fixed at convenient points in the walls and ceiling that could be utilised in a number of ways. In all, it was a very comfortable room…well, it was for Marchal and I at least.

I sat on the edge of my desk pondering for a moment. I would allow Delphine some time to ponder too, knowing that it may well help her to make the right decisions when I recommenced our interview. I would have some wine. Marchal always had good red wine in his office, one of the many benefits of his status and, fortunately, he was content to share it. I slowly walked over to his desk, picked up the glass sitting there, blew off a little dust which had settled upon it, and poured myself a small amount from the nearby decanter. It was sweet, fragrant and fruity, and I savoured it slowly, swirling the rich liquid round and round my mouth.

Artus returned to the room as I stood there, glass in hand, planning my next move …his eyes rolled dramatically, ' _Mon dieu_ , Claudette, women! Why must they wriggle so?!' He smiled, reaching out his hand to me, and I passed him the glass which he drained immediately.

'I thought you liked wriggling women?' I joked, knowing of his frequent dalliances with pretty alehouse girls.

'Not at work, I don't!' he grinned, raising his glass towards me, 'Does Marchal have any more of this?'

I glanced to the decanter, 'Get it yourself!'

Artus did just that, muttering, 'Women!' under his breath as he did so! We exchanged a friendly glance, we knew each other well enough to know when we spoke in jest.

'Will you leave her for a while?' he asked.

'Yes, just a little. It will give her time to think.' I replied, 'I've sent Antoine to watch de Valois, he won't be able to do anything without our knowledge.'

Artus nodded and finished his second glass, 'I suppose we'd better leave some for Marchal?'

'I think we should!' I conceded, 'Now, go and stay in the room with the wriggling Delphine. I don't want her to think we've forgotten her. I will come in soon….and don't say anything to her!'

Prior to questioning Delphine I removed my doublet (I found it too constricting during interviews), my necklace and my heavy leather belt with my dagger attached. Wearing just breeches and a loose shirt would allow me freedom of movement should I need it. I tightened the tie which held back my hair and pushed the looser side sections behind my ears. I would get to the truth behind Francoise de Valois' disappearance. If the poor cuckolded woman had been injured or, at worst, murdered I would get justice for her. I would see to it that the guilty would be severely punished…whether by my hands or by the hands of others, I cared not which.

Entering the interrogation room quietly I nodded at Artus, who stood strong and silent in the corner, and approached Delphine. She had resumed her façade of confidence and stared me brazenly in the eyes, 'I have done nothing wrong! You cannot do this to me!' she blurted out.

'Hmm….' I leant over her slowly, staring directly back at her, using the size of my body to intimidate her, saying calmly, 'Actually…I think you will find that I _can_.'

As I stood back upright to my full height she stared up at me, confusion in her eyes. I think that she truly believed that she could intimidate me with her brazenness! Oh dear, what a foolish young woman she was. She may have intimidated her gentle mistress, but I had yet to meet a woman who could intimidate me!

'Where is your mistress?' I said sharply.

'She is in her rooms…I have already told you…she is resting….'

'And I have already told you ….she is _not! I_ know she is not in her rooms…Artus here…' I waved my arm towards the stern-faced giant, '… _he_ knows that she is not…and _you_ also know that she is not….so….where is she? What have you done to her?'

I noticed Delphine's eyes widen, her pupils dilating, 'I haven't done anything to her!' She glanced to Artus as if seeking some assistance from him now, which was unforthcoming.

'But you have slept with her husband, have you not?!' I snapped back, 'You have sought to take her place!'

'I…. I…..' she stammered.

'You….you…what?!' I said, mockingly with a grin, lowering my face to within an inch or two of hers, 'You…you….sought to take your mistress' place? Wanted to have her out of the way?! What have you done to her?'

'No! No! You are wrong!' she yelled.

Standing again, I turned to Artus, 'Your knife, please.' I said, reaching out my hand to him. Artus stretched to his full height, reached inside his jacket and withdrew a long thinly-bladed dagger which he handed to me. I took it in my left hand, holding it down at my side.

I turned back to Delphine, 'I don't believe you, Delphine. I think you have harmed your mistress. Either you did it alone, or your master was involved with you…but you _will_ tell me where she is….'

Without another word I suddenly pulled back my right arm and slapped her forcefully across the face with the back of my hand. Her head was briefly knocked to one side with the strength of my blow and, when it returned upright, a large red welt had appeared on her cheek and her eyes had begun to fill with tears. She looked truly shocked, 'I …I …have done nothing…I swear it…'

I moved the dagger into my right hand and held it up towards her face. Seeing her flinch and move her head backwards I grabbed at her hair with my left hand, grasping a handful on the top of her head and thrusting her head back so that it hit the wooden column behind her with an audible thump. She cried out, 'No, please!'

Leaning in I traced the point of the dagger across her reddening cheek…just lightly touching the skin, 'You are attractive, Delphine,' I stated, 'I have no doubt that your master thinks so, doesn't he? Do you think he will find you attractive when I have cut your face open like meat on a kitchen block?'

Trying, but failing, to squirm from my fast held grip, Delphine squealed, 'No!' as I once again scraped my blade across her cheek…this time firmly enough to cut into the flesh and set blood flowing freely down her face and neck. Her tears were also flowing freely now, and her body begin to shake with sobs.

'Where is your mistress?' I asked, as I moved the knife to her other cheek and held it ready to slice.

'I have done nothing to her! She is safe! I swear it!' she sobbed.

In the corner of my eye I caught sight of a slight movement, I glanced quickly to see what it was. It was Marchal. He was standing sideways in the doorway, his arms folded casually across his chest, watching me. I saw him give a slight smile and a nod, but otherwise he remained perfectly still and quiet.

With barely a visible movement I dragged my knife down Delphine's unmarked cheek…leaving it as blooded and damaged as the other side. She screamed loudly.

'Where is your mistress?' I repeated, holding the knife close to her eyes so that she could see her own blood dripping from it, 'Tell me!'

I released my hand from her head and she slumped forward as far as her restraints would allow, blood from her cheeks dripping onto the stone floor in front of her.

'Tell me!'

Delphine half raised her head, 'You will stop?!' she mumbled.

'Tell me!'

'She has travelled to Holland….she is to give a message to someone there…something about the king…I do not know anything about it…I swear…I do not…my master sent her… I was not meant to know…but I heard them talking…'

I stood bolt upright; I admit I was surprised by this turn of events. I turned to look at Marchal. He too was no longer standing casually by…this was no longer a case of adultery, a crime of a passion, a simple murder…this was treason…this was revolution!


	6. Chapter 6

4

 **La Tourmenteuse: L'histoire d'une femme** Written by Helen Dunbar, 2016

 **La Tourmenteuse : L'histoire d'une femme**

 **Chapter 6: Revolution of the heart**

Over the following days myself, Marchal and every guard member and assistant throughout Versailles, Paris and surrounding towns went onto high alert. Anyone with a hint of a connection to de Valois was investigated thoroughly, but discreetly. The king had given Marchal _carte blanche_ to use any means necessary to root out the rotten apples in our basket and we all intended to do just that. We awaited impatiently the news that Francoise de Valois was to return to Versailles.

With long days, long nights and little sleep I feel that the intensity of those days led to me being in a greatly weakened state…every humour in my body seemed to fight for dominance over me! I came to be not only facing revolution in my homeland…I began to also face a revolution within my very heart.

One of those mornings, just before sunrise, I was walking my two favourite deer hounds in the palace gardens. I did this whenever I could, as I found that it allowed me a brief period of solitude and reflection before commencing on with the travails of my day, and I cherished it greatly. Time to gather my thoughts, to plan my actions, and to just breathe the fresh clean air of the gardens before (so often) re-entering the sweat-soaked muggy interrogation room, or spending hour upon hour seated in the office interpreting coded letters that had been found being spreading within the palace.

That morning, having sent the dogs off to rummage in the undergrowth while I strolled slowly down an untended path that had yet to be reinvigorated by the gardeners, I saw a figure ahead of me carrying a large package of some sort. Approaching quietly, my hand ready to pull my dagger from its sheath at my side, I was relieved to find that it was merely Claudine, the king's doctor.

'Good morning, Claudine!' I said softly, as I approached her, so as not to alarm her with my presence.

'Oh! Good morning, Claudette…I did not realise there was anyone else here!' she replied, turning to face me with a ready smile.

'What are you doing?' I questioned, nodding towards the large container I saw that she held in her arms.

'Collecting herbs and roots for my medicines. They are best gathered at this time of day…easier to pick!' She responded.

'Ah, I see.' I smiled back at her, 'I must confess it gave me some concern seeing someone else out here in the gardens so early in the day.'

'I come here about once a week to gather fresh plants, so you may see me here again.' She said, 'Though you will have no need of that!' she indicated the knife at my side with an inclination of her head.

'I may not need it with you, Claudine, but there are many who abound here in these times who are not so faithful to our king.'

She nodded acceptingly, with a pursing of her lips, 'You have a dangerous job, I think…do you not? Especially for a woman!'

'And you do _not_ have a dangerous job…especially for a woman?' I questioned, repeating her own words back to her, with a raise of my eyebrows.

'Well… perhaps… in some ways…' she conceded.

'We do not follow the well-furrowed paths of our sisters, Claudine. We are different…many do not take kindly to the changes that our lives bring…you must always take care to see that you do not come to any harm!'

She seemed a little taken aback by my warning, her eyes widened as she returned my gaze.

'I did not mean to alarm you, Claudine, forgive me. Just be careful. The times are changing quickly…and we are at the middle of the storm…it is prudent to be aware…and cautious.'

'I will take care, I promise,' she smiled.

'Good, good!' I returned her smile freely.

Claudine was an attractive young woman, with loose, wavy, dark blonde hair falling around her face. She was small and lightly built and, as did I, spent her working days in masculine clothing in order to satisfy the current _mores_ of the court and our society (she could not be seen to be a female doctor, even with the king's blessing!). We had spoken fairly briefly on a couple of occasions since I had arrived at Versailles and I found her to be the most pleasant of company. We had much in common; we had read many of the same treatises, I enjoyed conversing with her and would like to do more of it.

I was also aware that she had, as I had heard from various gossips, saved Marchal's life on two occasions in recent months … firstly from poison and latterly from a stab wound…and, for that alone, she deserved my respect and admiration. I believe that she had also saved the king himself from a fervent and dangerous fever, but her ministrations on Marchal's behalf seemed more relevant to me…and that…that feeling it itself…was a sign of the start of the madness within me.

'What are you doing here?' she asked.

'Walking the dogs.' I replied.

She looked around us, confusion across her face, 'I see no dogs!'

I laughed a little, clapped my hands together loudly three times and called, 'Boys! Come!'

A loud rustling a short distance away was heard, and the two hounds burst out from the undergrowth and bounded towards us at great speed. Claudine stepped back quickly as they approached us.

I signalled to the hounds with my left arm raised, 'Rest!' They stopped obediently some three feet before us, tongues lolling, their breath heavy from their exertions.

'Please meet…' I waved my hand towards them, 'Astro and Urso.' The dogs panted excitedly at the sounds of their names, switching their gazes from myself to Claudine and back again.

'Are they your dogs?' Claudine questioned.

'They are the king's servants, like us!' I smiled, 'But they are my favourites. Are you afraid of them?'

'A little…' she admitted.

'Do not be! They are well trained. They would not hurt you.'

'But they are trained to hurt people, are they not?' she queried, somewhat hesitantly.

'They are…as am I…it is what we do to protect the king.' I answered her honestly.

'Hmm…'

Seeing her anxieties at the dogs' presence I clapped my hands again, 'Boys! Go!' I shouted. They double-checked my command with their eyes, I waved my arms, and they bounded away excitedly to recommence their games. Claudine seemed relieved.

'Have you settled here now, Claudette?' she asked me.

'Yes, I believe that I have…' I replied, 'Well, as much as you can settle in a place that is not your true home.'

'And Marchal, he is well?'

'He is,' I nodded, smiling, 'Which I believe is thanks to you?'

'It is true that I have helped him recently, yes…and he does not make a good patient!' she confided in me, again with that ready smile of hers, 'He is most stubborn and resists taking advice!'

'I am not surprised to hear that! He is accustomed to being in charge.'

'And you two…?' she questioned, her words a little softer now.

'We two…?' I asked, raising my brows expectantly.

'You are…you make a very handsome couple!' she said.

I confess I was shocked by her words, 'Pardon?! We are _not_ …we are not a couple!' I replied sharply.

'Oh! Forgive me, Claudette! It's just…I saw you the other evening…I thought…I'm sorry...' she grimaced in embarrassment.

'I do not follow…what did you see?' I asked, trying to keep my voice calm.

'You were riding back into the palace together. I noticed Marchal helping you when you dismounted.'

'And…why…why did that make you think we are a couple?'

'Well…he had no need to do that, did he?' she smiled again, this time with a look of a mother explaining a blatant fact to an uncomprehending child, 'Do you not see it?'

I shrugged slightly, beckoning her to continue.

'You clearly need no assistance in getting off your horse, Claudette…and yet he rushed to assist you…to take your arm and your waist as you did so.'

I was bemused, and it must have been obvious to her.

'I believe he just wanted to touch you, Claudette!' she smiled, 'I have been acquainted with Marchal for some months now…I have seen him work…the most distasteful aspects of his work…' she grimaced at the memory (I knew not of what at that time), '…I have nursed him …and I have learnt that he is not a man to do anything without giving it great consideration beforehand…I am sure you also know that…'

She questioned me with her face, but I could not find any words to respond to her. My mind was racing over the memory of that evening…returning to the palace…Marchal's hands guiding me firmly, but gently, as I dismounted my horse. I had thought nothing of it at the time, but now I did…and my heart began to race.


	7. Chapter 7

3

 **La Tourmenteuse: L'histoire d'une femme** Written by Helen Dunbar, 2016

 **La Tourmenteuse : L'histoire d'une femme**

 **Chapter 7: The night before Gaston de Valois' interrogation**

The late evening air was brisk and chill and a fire had been set in the office which gave the whole room a glow of flickering orange light. A light supper of bread, cheese and wine had been laid out for me on a small side table. Standing there, gazing over the food without really seeing it, I pondered on the events of the day. It had been busy; numerous reports had come in from our men in Paris, a further number of coded notes had been discovered in the palace laundry (though we now suspected that some, if not all, of these were decoy messages meant to distract us), and we had finally decided to bring Gaston de Valois into our custody.

There was still no word of his wife, Francoise, returning from Holland, so Marchal had decided to act rather than continue waiting. De Valois was currently being kept _un_ comfortable in the company of Artus in our main interrogation room. We would speak with him the next day; in the meantime, a night without food or repose would no doubt serve to soften his defences.

I absent-mindedly broke off a piece of bread, popped it into my mouth and chewed. Unlike Marchal, I was not expected to attend the king's formal evening meals, for which I was most relieved. Normally I would have preferred to spend my evenings out riding, reading, in good conversation or in quiet contemplation. Of course, this had not happened since the revelations of Delphine Chausset. I believed that if I could get just one full night of sleep then perhaps my humours would balance again and I would no longer be feeling such turmoil within me.

My recent conversation with Claudine had both troubled and excited me in equal part. I now found that when I was in Marchal's company I studied him ever more closely, but no longer as I had done so previously, as a keen student studying a master…I now studied him with thoughts of the pleasures of the flesh foremost in my mind, and I chastised myself forcefully for it.

Marchal's manner towards me was as I had always found it: polite, accommodating, supportive, professional, and we continued to work together in harmony as we had done from the outset. But now I had begun to view his every action in a different light: I spent my time trying to interpret the motivation behind his every word and move towards me. It was as if a dense mist had fallen throughout my mind and I could no longer think clearly in his regard. If it continued I would need to confess my sins to the priest even more fervently than I did usually.

Thankfully, that evening my mind was relatively calm, as was all at the palace. Our agents were all in place and following their orders, and we did not anticipate that any major events would occur that night. I certainly hoped to eat my dinner and retire to bed without being called upon further. I poured myself a small glass of wine and set it down on the floor beside my chair. On sitting, I leant forward and pulled off my long boots, throwing them to one side as I stretched out my legs…looking down at my dark grey breeches and stockinged feet as I did so. My limbs felt tired and heavy, and the warmth of the fire soothed them to such an extent that I was on the verge of falling asleep where I sat when the door opened and Hubert appeared.

Hubert had risen swiftly through the ranks of the Parisian police until he became Marchal's second-in-command three years previously. Still only in his late twenties, he had the self-assurance and competence of a man of far more advanced years. He was taller than Marchal, lean and wiry, with a shock of light brown curly hair and clear blue eyes. Like my man, Artus, he liked to drink to excess whenever the opportunity arose, particularly in the company of pretty young women (and also not-so-pretty, no-so-young women if the rumours that I had heard were to be believed!). He had a ready smile, often at the most inopportune moments. It certainly confused many a criminal to be apprehended by a smiling palace guard.

'Good evening, Claudette!' he said cheerily, pointing at my dinner, 'May I?'

'Please, take what you want. I don't feel very hungry tonight.'

I watched as he took almost half a loaf of bread in one hand, ripped it in two and set a square of cheese within the pieces. He chewed loudly as he turned to me and garbled, 'Good cheese!' he grinned. I couldn't help but laugh; he was most congenial company and I liked him.

'Sit with me!' I said, pointing to an empty chair near Marchal's desk. Holding his giant lump of bread and cheese in one hand, he dragged the chair nearer to the fire with the other, and sat almost facing me.

Barely a minute had passed before he was smacking his lips and declaring, 'I think I shall complain: you get better food than I do in this office!'

'I think that is Fabien's doing,' I said, 'He has been most accommodating since I arrived here.'

Hubert gave me a look which I found hard to interpret, saying, 'Ah, yes…he is … _enjoying_ being your host, I think….and you, how do like being at Versailles? Do you miss Rouen?'

'I miss my family home a little, it is true…but that is the same whenever I go away…I have travelled a lot this past year. I will go home when the king sees fit. As to Versailles…it is a great honour to be called to work here…' I replied.

'A very clever answer,' Hubert conceded with raised eyebrows, 'But a true one? I am not so sure….' He grinned and rose to pour himself some wine.

'Do you seek to interrogate me, Hubert?' I retorted, with mock indignance.

'Of course not!' he replied with a bow, 'I would not dare to do such a thing!'

We laughed softly as he sat and raised his glass towards me in a toast, 'To our success! And to the king!'

I picked up my glass from the floor beside me and raised it upwards, 'To the king!'

As we sat in comfortable silence we were interrupted by a guard, bringing a message from Marchal that he handed to me, advising me that I was to read it immediately. I opened it and read aloud, 'Francoise de Valois is on her way back to Versailles,' I looked directly at Hubert, who sat upright immediately and leant forward attentively, 'She has crossed the Belgian border already. Marchal has ridden to intercept her before she reaches Paris. She is expected to arrive there sometime tonight. He hopes to return here with her tomorrow. We are to question Gaston in the morning.'

'Well, well,' said Hubert, letting out a long deep breath, 'So the dove is finally coming home to roost then. What news will she bring to us, I wonder?'

'I wonder….' I said softly, with a satisfied grin, 'I cannot wait to find out!'

Refilling both our glasses, Hubert raised another toast, 'To Marchal! May he return

to us safely with our prey!'

'To Marchal!' I toasted in return.


	8. Chapter 8

3

 **La Tourmenteuse: L'histoire d'une femme** Written by Helen Dunbar, 2016

 **La Tourmenteuse : L'histoire d'une femme**

 **Chapter 8 : Questioning Gaston de Valois**

My eyes were closed, my breath coming in short gasps, our foreheads were nearly touching. I could feel great waves of heat emanating from the man before me: I could smell the sour bitter sweat and the fear dripping from his straining and twisted torso. He did indeed look ghastly.

'Thank you, Gaston. You have been most helpful.'

I stood up straight and opened my eyes fully, taking in the sight before me. Gaston de Valois…nobleman…rich man…successful man…husband…father…and traitor! How he had fought and struggled as the guards had dragged him into this room. How he had so loudly and forcefully declared his innocence! We were so wrong; the king would hear of it; he would be vindicated and we would be the ones to be punished. But the king had already heard of Gaston's actions, which was precisely why he was here with us in the first place!

Now, his head hung forward limply, his body held aloft by steel manacles at his wrists that attached by a thick metal chain to the ceiling. His eyes were swollen, barely a slit of eyeball visible, and what was visible was red and crusted with blood and pus. A thick rivulet of blood fell from his left ear, spreading down his face and neck. It had been necessary to pierce an eardrum.

I sighed softly to myself.

'Gaston, Gaston! I had expected so much more from you!' I whispered.

'I had come carefully prepared and yet you deny me any enjoyment,' I shook my head, 'I am most displeased.'

I admit I am being somewhat harsh in my judgement of dear old Gaston here, for he had indeed given me some pleasure. He had squealed like a live pig on a roasting spit when firmly prodded and had provided me with the information that I sought…but the fact that he had given it so quickly is what irked me. What had happened to men? Were they now all such dandies and fops that the slightest pain caused them to submit? That, in itself, was by far the greatest disappointment to me.

Bringing in Gaston's young son to visit him had been a great ploy. I smiled inwardly at the thought of it. Oh yes, I would use that tactic again. Perhaps breaking the boy's fingers with a wooden mallet had been a tad excessive of me, but it had to be done and …it had worked…Gaston talked. In fact, prior to passing out, Gaston had not seemed to want to stop talking.

As I stood gazing at the limp form that was once the dandy nobleman Gaston, deep in thought, I felt a presence approach me from behind. Normally in such a circumstance I would whip my body around and the person would have my knife at their throat before they even realised they had been noticed, but I knew that my customary response was not necessary…for I could smell him as he came closer, the fragrance I had noticed the first time we met. A touch of sage, some rosemary, perhaps a little pepper…a heady and spicy concoction indeed...plus a little lavender, probably from his laundress on his clothing. It was Marchal, he had returned…hopefully with Madame de Valois in his care.

'Has he spoken?' he asked, his voice soft, deep and rasping in the now quiet room. I felt the warmth of his breath upon my ear.

'He has.' I replied.

I turned, removing my blood-stained fine leather gloves as I did so…pushing a loosened lock of my dark blonde hair behind my ear with my free hand. My hair felt damp. I looked at my fingers. Blood! I hated it when people bled on me!

'Come, Fabien, we must talk! Then you must see the king!'

I brushed lightly past him, our eyes briefly catching, heading quickly towards our candlelit office at the end of the short stone corridor.

At the door to the office, standing meekly to one side, was his maidservant. I handed her my soiled gloves with barely a glance as I passed. I could feel her animosity towards me burning within her…she tried to disguise it, of course, she would be most foolish not to, but I was too much a student of human behaviour and emotion to be deceived. I did not trust her.

Upon entering the office we sat. He behind his deeply carved mahogany desk, covered with numerous scraps of paper, leather-bound books, a crumpled hastily discarded cravat, and a glass half-filled with red wine: I on the hard solid chair that I pulled from behind my desk in order to sit facing him.

Marchal's deep soulful brown eyes looked at me with shock and disbelief on hearing my single word statement, 'Rohan.'

'Rohan?!', he exclaimed.

'Yes, Rohan. It is hard to fathom… it seems impossible, I know…but it is Rohan'

I sighed deeply, looking down at my hands for a second in order to break his direct glare. I had achieved my aim; I had gained the information that we both had sought, but I had never ventured to guess that the information I would receive from Gaston would be so earth shattering. Indeed, in that moment, it was hard to imagine that there could ever be a worse outcome to a satisfactory interrogation. It pained me to admit to myself that I would have rather that Gaston had not spoken.

We sat in silence for what seemed an eternity. Marchal took a sip of wine and rubbed his hands over his face, briefly covering his eyes as if in doing so he would not have to face our discovery head on. Rohan was one of the king's oldest and most trusted friends, a member of the King's Circle, a confidant, almost another brother. Yet we now knew that it was Rohan who sought to conspire, to raise support for William of Orange, and to lead the revolution against him.

I broke the silence, almost in a whisper, 'We must inform the king!'

'I know!' he responded sharply.

Marchal, however, seemed unsure. It was not an emotion that I imagine he encountered frequently. His face was a myriad of conflicting emotions. Perhaps Gaston was lying? Was he merely saying any name purely to protect himself, to prevent further injury to himself and to his son? If Marchal declared Rohan a traitor to the king and he was mistaken…who knows what results would ensue from such an error. This was not something to be taken lightly.

'We need more evidence…I cannot denounce Rohan on the say of one weak man!'

'Then we shall get more evidence…' I declared, standing up quickly, 'You have brought Francoise here? Where is she? I shall speak with her! She will tell us what we need to know!'

Marchal nodded and also stood, 'We shall speak to her together!'


End file.
